Everything
by Sith Happens
Summary: The MacManus Twins are everything to each other... short drabble in answer to a challenge by DreamsDie, rated M because I can't remember if I cursed in it or not haha Also, implied slashiness.


-1**A/N: Another one for DreamsDie. This is to the lyrics of "Everything" by LifeHouse.**

_Find Me Here  
Speak To Me  
I want to feel you  
I need to hear you  
You are the light  
That's leading me  
To the place where I find peace again._

You are the strength, that keeps me walking.  
You are the hope, that keeps me trusting.  
You are the light to my soul.  
You are my purpose...you're everything.

How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

You calm the storms, and you give me rest.  
You hold me in your hands, you won't let me fall.  
You steal my heart, and you take my breath away.  
Would you take me in? Take me deeper now?

How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?  
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

Cause you're all I want, You're all I need  
You're everything, everything  
You're all I want you're all I need  
You're everything, everything.  
You're all I want you're all I need.  
You're everything, everything  
You're all I want you're all I need, you're everything, everything.

And How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?  
How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?  


--

Murphy was going absolutely insane with grief. For four days his beloved Connor had been in a coma, laid up in a hospital bed with all sorts of tubes and wires hanging out of him. It was all the dark-haired Irishman could do to not go storming in there and rip every piece of machinery out and take his brother home where he belonged.

That night earlier in the week had basically been like any other. The twins were finishing up a few cartons of Chinese food, drinking a Guinness each and preparing themselves for their night out killing evil men. Of course, preparation normally consisted of them cleaning their guns before grasping at each others' shirts as their lips sought one another's. It was a tradition, a ritual really, that always ended in them having to pull their clothes back on before leaving their apartment to complete their mission.

Standing over the hospital bed, looking down at his unconscious brother, Murphy knew exactly where the night had gone wrong. He, in his infinite brashness, had gone blazing into the room where the drug deal had been going on. Connor had tried to warn him, tried to tell him that it wasn't a good idea to bust in without sizing up the enemy. But Murphy had always been headstrong, stubborn, and his brother's words fell on deaf ears. That was until he kicked the door in and the two were immediately fired upon. Connor shouted, pushing Murphy down gruffly. They both rolled behind a couch and used it as a sort of bunker from which to counter attack.

Again, Murphy had been sure they were successfully fighting the men off, but soon he realized his error. For the last five minutes, he had been the only one shooting back. It was down to Murphy and one lowlife drug dealer, and of course the Grace of God was on the Irishman's side. He gave a triumphant hoot, adrenaline and victory coursing through his veins. With as wide a grin as he'd ever had, he turned to his brother, expecting an answering victory cry. But Connor was sitting slumped against the back of the couch, gun held limply in his lap as his head hung extremely low. The thrill that Murphy had wrapped himself in turned into an almost suffocating coldness when he saw the steadily growing patch of red on his brother's gray sweater.

"Conn," Murphy had whispered, reaching out to touch his brother's shoulder. There was no response. Murphy repeated himself louder, trying to shake his brother into answering him. Soon the shaking became more desperate, as did the quell in Murphy's voice.

--

Connor was admitted to the hospital with two gunshot wounds to the chest, one having punctured his lung. The doctors told Murphy his brother was lucky to be alive, and the police told him he was lucky the both weren't under arrest. It seemed that most of the police were willing to believe that it had to do with a drive-by shooting, but of course there were always skeptics. But the darker twin didn't give a damn about all that. He was more worried about the fact that his brother was having to be fed intravenously and hadn't even opened his eyes yet.

For the fourth day in a row, Murphy sat at his brother's side, elbows propped up on the mattress. He clasped Connor's hand in both of his, forehead pressed against the fingers bearing the Latin for "truth." Because it was only him and Connor and the Good Lord, Murphy had no reason to hold back the tears in his eyes. His paler than normal cheeks glistened as he started to sniffle and sob. He hadn't been eating and had barely been able to even keep water in his stomach. The nurses at one point had even dragged him away from the bed to make him at least have some coffee and a donut to keep himself going. Other than that, he hadn't left Connor's room.

"Well, at least ye can't see me blubberin' like an idiot." Murphy tried to smile through his tears, but it was no use as he broke down again.

"Christ, Conn! Ye can't do this ta me," he mumbled for the hundredth time since they'd been in the hospital. "How'm I supposed ta do this? How'm I supposed ta walk around without ye? I can't think, can't eat, can't sleep… Ye're everythin' ta me, Conn. Without ye, I'm nothin'."

He took a deep, quivering breath, trying to steady himself. Wiping his face off a little, Murphy again tried to crack a smile. "God, what am I goin' ta tell Ma?"

But again his attempt at laughter resulted in him tearing up. He pressed his forehead against the back of his brother's hand once again, leaning on it as if that small amount of contact could make everything all better. "Please, Conn. Wake up soon. I love ye. I'm lost without ye."

He remained that way for sometime, though he wasn't quite sure how long it was. Whatever the time frame, he eventually started to doze off, laying his head on the blankets at Connor's side. At first, Murphy thought the strange feeling at the back of his head was just his imagination. He knew he was awake because he was able to feel the blanket against his cheek and he could detect no surreal quality that most dreams tend to have. The only thing seemingly out of place was the sensation on the back of his head, like someone's fingers were brushing weakly. Closing his eyes, he prayed that if it was just him imagining things, that it would go away. Murphy couldn't bare the thought of hoping and not having.

But the sensation didn't stop and slowly, so very slowly, Murphy reached his hand up and tangled them with Connor's hand in his hair. His heart stopped when he felt his brother's fingers squeeze back, not matter how weakly it was. Raising his head, the darker twin looked up to find Connor's eyes opened into tiny, almost imperceptible slits.

"Conn," he quaked gently, reaching his other hand cautiously to the fairer one's face almost as if he were afraid to touch him.

There was a hoarse breath, a couch, and finally a weak whisper. "Murph, ye alright?"

"Thank ye, God," Murphy sobbed out frantically. "Oh Christ Jesus, thank ye, sweet Lord!"

Confusion seem to furrow Connor's brow lethargically, but Murphy wasted no time in cupping his brother's cheeks in his hands and kissing his face all over before finally landing on his slightly chapped lips. And the darker twin knew things were getting closer to better when Connor's hand reached up to stroke his cheek lovingly.


End file.
